Here For You
by EverChanging101
Summary: Set before ASiP and extending to S2 and S3 events. Sherlock moves to London, experiences love, heartbreak, loss and most of all his cold hard logic is challenged when he sees supernatural apparitions, or as how ordinary people usually describe them: ghosts. What could be so important a person comes back from the dead for? Ranges from fluff to angst. IN PROGRESS.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! Just thought it might be time to start a new multi-chapter fic and what better time to start publishing than during the height of exams? Am I right?!  
_

_Ahem, anyway...I really do hope you like this. It will go from fluff to dark to angst to comfort throughout. It is set before ASiP by many years, directly after Sherlock moves to London to become the world's only consulting detective. Later on it will involve spoilers for season 2 and 3 (Just thought you might want to know).  
_

_Please try to ignore any grammar errors, I am sure there are many. This work is unbeta'd._

_Please read notes at the end._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary man. He's known it since that vexing day his mother forced him and Mycroft to make 'friends'. Even at the ages of six and ten, the Holmes brothers knew they were unlike other children of their ages.

The revelation brought on subsequent isolation from the world. Mycroft celebrated the differences, he often bragged about his 'superior' mind and how he was smarter than the neighbors combined, Sherlock and even mummy.

Yet Sherlock did not find his mind to be a focal point. He wanted to play and he wanted to laugh. The best moment of his childhood had been when he'd gotten a new puppy and called him Redbeard. His life resembled that of a normal child whenever he played pirate with his beloved dog, and consistently ignored his older brother's rather loud remarks and eye rolling.

The worst moment,and the moment he decided a superior mind and isolation would protect him from heartbreak again, had been when young Sherlock lost his Redbeard.

Sherlock's mind was wielded well under the supervision of Mycroft, he'd learned how to be heartless and emotionally distant. He could easily delete information and memories, and wield a perfect mask of ice in a matter of seconds. His mind grew in rooms and spaces and his once childish heart was pushed aside and ignored effectively .

Yet that feeling always lingered somewhere in the background._ Loneliness_.

DI Lestrade had been an improvement to the self-enforced lifetime of isolation. He even stayed by Sherlock's side when Mycroft 'questioned' him and tried to bribe him at some point to spy on the man who called himself the 'consulting detective'. the DI had completely refused and even, to Sherlock's delight, let his opinions on the matter of spying known to Mycroft with all sorts of colourful words he knew.

There was also another person Sherlock became acquainted with in London, a person who filled a different kind of hole in Sherlock's repudiated heart.

That was why Sherlock's still form occupied the sofa that took up most his inadequately sized flat. He was laying down, hands under his chin in his usual prayer stance. He did not even bother to close the door, or turn on the lights when the sun had set. He was going over information he'd piled up on her, and why he'd kissed her and why he wanted to do it again. Repeatedly.

Molly Hooper occupied his mind. That was the end result of his mind finally giving in to his heart's badgering. Now her face was plastered on the walls of his mind palace and her voice narrated his medical information. What he did not anticipate was finding a new room filled with information about her. Things she liked, even things he did not fully approve of, were scattered about.

It had all started when they'd met on her first day as the new pathologist at St. Bart's. Sherlock had successfully driven away five doctors. She was a new graduate who just moved to London, and despite his notorious reputation which Mike Stamford repeatedly warned her about, loudly and in front of him no less; she still showed up to work with a smile on her face.

He remembered the twinkle in her eyes on the first day. He remembered the brief flashes of hurt that slowly swallowed that annoyingly bright light behind her doe eyes when he called her physical attraction to him and a few other secrets out, then when she'd disappeared into the ladies' restrooms, he thought he weeded out another pathologist, though she was the most competent in a long while. He regretted it for a millisecond.

She came back with her face red from crying, yet her smile persisted and her eyes determined. She always came back.

He couldn't help but admire her spine even if she believed she did not have any.

Soon enough a foreign sensation ate at him whenever he made a cruel remark or commented on her appearance. He came to appreciate her existence and her immense help in his experiments, yet the remarks every so often slipped out of him. He felt guilty and displeased whenever her sadness was his doing and also whenever it wasn't. He could no longer bear to see the hurt across her face.

To his surprise, he apologized. Not just for that one comment, but for everything he did before that as well.

It was unfathomable to him why she'd forgiven him immediately, but he was grateful all the same. He secretly promised himself not to hurt her again.

She'd become a sturdy link in his very short chain of trust, she just did not know it yet.

It was when Sherlock relapsed into drugs again that he realized he'd broken that promise. When she was finally allowed to visit him after he'd repeatedly yelled at his brother for forbidding her in the first place, there was hurt in her eyes again and a bit of fear as well, though he could not bring himself to believe it was for his sake.

"You idiot" Her voice was choked and her eyes were puffy, she did not bother to cover her sadness like she always did. She stood timidly by the door of his hospital room.

"I am sorry" He sat up slowly in the bed he was not allowed to leave, careful not to tangle his IV lines.

"Why would you do this to yourself?" She was angry now. He wondered how many emotions were in a turmoil inside her. He wondered if she was the least bit glad he's sitting in that bed now with a steady beep from the heart rate monitor hooked to him. Why would she be?

"There are no excuses, Molly" He brought his gaze down "My mind was being exceptionally loud and I opted for the easy fix" He winced at how cold his words sounded. Molly always saw through his walls whenever he put them, though, her expression softening a bit.

"You told me about that" She nodded, recalling a previous conversation ending when she practically pushed him outside of her lab and banning him until he'd had a good night's sleep "We'll need to find an outlet for you, then"

He looked up at her again, his eyebrows raised. She was right by his bed now, her eyes devoid of anger.

"Just promise me, Sherlock" She locked eyes with him, her expression more serious than he has ever seen "Promise me you won't hurt yourself like this again"

He quickly nodded, taking her hand in his "I promise you"

For a second he could not believe she was there, holding his hand and worrying over him. For a second he thought he'd lost her admiration and her attention.

"Thank you" He croaked. It was barely a whisper.

"What for?" She seemed puzzled, checked his drugs for a second to see if he was lucid or not before turning her attention back to his eyes.

His heavy mind finally gave in to sleep at that point, and when he woke up the next day she was there. She'd resided in the chair next to his bed, having brought a few books from her flat

"To keep you occupied" She explained.

He did not deserve her, he realized. But he would try.

Sherlock knew Mycroft had listened to the conversations in the hospital room and that he also noted the pathologist's visiting pattern: every day after her shift until Sherlock was well enough to go to rehab. The elder Holmes slipped his usual "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock" conversation which Sherlock entirely scoffed at and ignored on the way to the rehab center, he even considered hurling himself out of the vehicle, mentally measuring its speed and the chances of internal injuries.

Sherlock's never been as icy as his older brother, no matter how hard the latter 'trained' him to be.

Maybe Mycroft saw his little brother's growing affection long before Sherlock realized it even existed.

She called herself his 'friend'. He was grateful, but could not help wondering how it would be like if she was 'more'.

At first, after Mycroft's comment and Sherlock's return from rehab, he tried to stay away from her. Then he realized that she had become an indispensable part of his life in London. He was bored and sulked during the week he'd spent avoiding her lab at St. Bart's. He needed her presence because he was better with her by his side. He needed her because seeing her smile had become his new drug. He told himself it was his experiments and his microscope that he so sorely missed, but he had another one three floors away from her.

He brought her coffee and smiled more. He joked and she laughed, she said such horrendous jokes and he laughed as well. It's been a long time since he truly laughed. His heart was fighting against its chains and his mind was letting it win.

He'd driven away a few of her dates and she was starting to fume again. He knew she was physically attracted to him, he knew she 'liked' him and he was sure the same signs were shown on his part as well. He reminded himself not everyone is as perceptive as he is, even her. Sherlock finally stopped fighting against himself and decided to wait no longer.

And so happened when she was yelling at him for messing up something in the lab, he'd ignored her tone but stilled his eyes on her mouth as it moved, her eyes shone with anger yet her pupils were dilated as they always were in his vicinity.

He could not see the point in denying himself her intimacy any longer. As their lips met, his mind went silent as if in awe. When she got over the initial shock and moved her lips against his, the calm had been different than the one brought on by drugs. Comparing her to drugs did not seem right, she was bless.

Yet he messed it up by breaking the kiss abruptly and vanishing from the entire hospital. He knew how livid she would be right after she' taken everything in, but he needed to think. He headed straight to his flat and flopped down on the sofa.

Thus, it's no surprise that she has a room of her own in his mind palace. It was not surprise she occupied the few rooms his heart had to offer as well. He could no longer deny the fact. He no longer had the energy nor the will to fight against his growing sentiment.

Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes and stood up. He appreciated the fact that he was still attired with his coat and shoes, and he bolted from his flat.

* * *

Molly did not even attempt to go to bed. She knew her mind would not stop replaying that kiss over and over or the way he fled the scene shortly after. She was happy, over the moon, flabbergasted and most of all she was angry.

It was a dream come true for Sherlock to kiss her, she'd imagined the feel of his lips on hers and how his hands would caress her back as their lips moved with each other. He's seen through her 'crush' from the first day, even Lestrade knew about it. One had to blind to not see the crimson she turned into when he complimented her, and one had to also be deaf to not hear her stutter around him.

Yet she never imagined he'd run off after he kisses her. She tried to reason that he was not a man of 'feeling' anything, publicly at least, yet she was left feeling disappointed.

Molly sighed and threw herself on the couch with a glass of wine in her hand and the remote controlled in the other. She could not concentrate on whatever show was on. The constant replay of events in her mind ceased, however, when she heard an almost timid knock on her door.

She checked the clock, it was well past midnight. With her brows furrowed, she slowly approached the door and looked through the peep hole. Instantaneously, she opened the door.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly" he looked pale, his hand tucked deep into his pockets and his eyes scanning "I would apologise for the inconvenient timing, though I don't think I interrupted anything of importance""

"No" She said her brows still furrowed "Are you okay?"

"May I come in?" He said.

"Yes, of course, sorry" She opened the door wider and closed it after he stepped in. Sherlock stood in the corridor uncertainty and nervousness clear in his posture, his eyes fixated on her in one of his intense exposing gazes. A few minutes later the silence and his gaze became uncomfortable and she started to feel herself blush. When she opened her mouth to speak, he beat her to it.

"I am sorry"

"It's fine" She lied.

"No, it's not. According to social conventions, you are not supposed to have a first kiss with someone then run out of the building" His face and tone were serious, then his gaze turned to his shoes and he stumbled on his words "I just did not know what to do next"

For some stupid reason she was not able to reply. Her mind was running in broken circles at the sight of Sherlock Holmes confused and slightly embarrassed, if his slightly pink ears are anything to go by.

"I suppose I should ask you out for coffee, though I doubt you'll agree after…" His words drifted.

"Well, you can always try and make it up to me, Sherlock" Molly said slowly, not able to contain her smile any longer "Though I think coffee at midnight would not be a wise decision"

He visibly relaxed at her words, his eyes meeting hers again, wandering to her mouth for a second then to her eyes as if to ask for permission. A small smile on her part was all the confirmation he needed apparently.

He pressed his lips to hers. Softly and uncertainly at first, then as his large hands surrounded her small waist and caressed her back, their tongues met and the force grew. Molly never thought Sherlock had it in him to kiss this greatly, but this new personality of his was entirely different territory for her, a few surprises were expected. They parted to catch a breath, eyes locked on each other.

"I really do like you, you know" Sherlock said when he finally regained his composure.

"This is a whole new side of you, Sherlock" Molly raised her eyebrows "What brought this on?"

"You" He said, his hands going back to her waist and holding her body close to his "You brought this on, and for that I thank you"

She smiled and gave him a soft peck on the lips "I like you too, you know"

"I know" He said smugly and she buried her face into his coat, chuckling softly "Can I stay over tonight?" Her head shot up at his question, puzzled.

"Stay over?" She repeated, still unsure what he meant, but her face blushing all the same.

"We don't have to have sex, Molly" Sherlock said "According to my research that happens after the sixth date and whenever both parties are equally prepared, we can just sleep"

She nodded "Let's just sleep for tonight, then"

Sherlock was about to combust. The good kind of combustion, if there ever was one.

He did not need to open his eyes to make sure of her presence, his hands had embraced her throughout the night and the feeling had been so comfortable neither of them even stirred.

He quickly catalogued how small her body is and how perfectly it fits next to his, he added details about the smell of her hair and that she snored softly once she was in a deep enough sleep. Her room had grown exponentially in the last hour.

"Sherlock?" Molly spoke into his chest "Are you awake?"

"Yes" He said, a smile formed on his lips even though he never sent an order to those muscles.

"I have to go to work" She said, her tone almost disappointed.

"I know" He smiled "But you still have fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off"

"That's good" She buried her face deeper into his shirt and her soft snore continued.

It was an odd time to be thinking about his brother but Sherlock knew Mycroft will be displeased if he even heard that his younger brother had thrown years' worth of emotional training to do something as ridiculous as cuddling. He could even imgaine Mycroft making a face as he uttered the word _cuddling.  
_

Fifteen minutes later, Molly's alarm went off. With a groan she let herself out of Sherlock's arms and turned it off.

"Good morning" She smiled at him softly, her sleepy eyes almost closed and still not used to the rays of sun seeping through the curtains.

"Morning" He said, smiling back at her "Sleep well?"

"Very, you?" Her smile broadened, and she moved to give a quick peck on the lips.

"Mmm, I slept just fine" his hand on her back, he gave her another kiss.

"I have to get ready"With that she was off to the bathroom, and he made his way to the kitchen to get their coffee starting, that small smile still on his face.

* * *

_So, like I said before, fluff and then well...I can't say. Anyway, you might have noticed Sherlock is kind of OOC here, it is all intentional I swear, he'll be the Sherlock everyone likes to punch in the face soon. _

_Anyway, if you're planning on continuing reading this, I might do a few more chapters of pure fluff to have their relationship strengthened, so if you have any prompts or fluffy situation suggestions feel free to drop by my tumblr account by the same name or even PM me here ;) Your effort will be much appreciated! _

_I hope you enjoyed. Please review and favourite._


	2. Chapter 2

**Please ignore the grammar and spelling mistakes. This is unbeta'd. **

* * *

Molly groaned and reached for the alarm by her bed. She slowly sat up to avoid snoozing and lifted the covers off herself. A greeting by a cold breeze of air against her body was expected. A soft good morning coming from the pillow next to hers was not.

She let out a squeal and went into fight or flight mode (in her case just flight) before her sleepy brain connected the deep baritone voice to its owner.

"God, Sherlock! You scared me. "When did you get here?" She clutched her chest and tried to focus on lowering her heart rate to normal.

He chuckled and opened his eyes to meet hers "Case solved, your place was closer" He lifted his arms to remove the covers revealing his naked upper half "I did knock" He gestured to her bedroom door.

Sherlock often came over when he was done with a case or when there were no cases, he hated his tiny flat and preferred to stay at hers whenever possible. The sex might have been another reason why he visited so often too. He had no schedule, but her fridge was more stocked now in anticipation for him to return to normal human behavior post cases.

"Coffee?" She asked as she sat on the edge of the bed, searching for her slippers.

"We're awake now" Sherlock reached for her wrist to stop her leaving the bed "One of us is naked and the other soon will be if we work on it, let's not waste that" His voice went deeper at the last words and Molly felt a shiver down her spine.

"Let's not" She turned to face him "But you need to eat and drink first and I need to shower. Then, maybe we can work something out"

"But I ate yesterday before bed" He pouted and whined, his hand tightened around her wrist.

"Toast does not count as a meal, Sherlock" Molly shook her head "I need you to take care of yourself"

"Fine" He huffed "But after I eat, sex"

"Agreed" She smiled and kissed his forehead softly.

-8-8-8-

Molly hummed softly as she clipped the vessels around Mrs. Harrison's heart. She often tried to stop smiling or humming while cutting into a dead person's chest cavity, but she couldn't help herself this morning.

Molly was happy. Perfectly content. How often did that happen for her? _Not that much_, she mused.

Sherlock had been difficult at the beginning, yes. She had to show him what can and cannot be done in a relationship. He was trying to learn for her sake, and she found his utter oblivion to certain things endearing. Yet he learned and in the span of a month he improved his dating skills so much. He even started taking her when she insisted that staying at Bart's and having coffee did not count as date.

Sherlock had given her his heart and his time and she wanted nothing more. He made a point to text her while on cases because she once said she worried too much and couldn't sleep sometimes. It was a win-win situation when she introduced him to sexting and he often glowered as his phone in frustration at times, or at least that's what she heard from Lestrade who did not know why in the world Sherlock would be mad while checking the weather or checking a brand of clothes.

He often made her into a hot panting mess too while at work, often as revenge for doing the same to him while he investigated.

But it was not all sex and mess. They were compatible at work, they were already like a well-oiled machine in the lab, working together and finishing tests without the other even having to ask for them, their work had gotten better if that was even possible.

Sherlock told her about his family, his dog, his childhood and she told him everything about her.

Molly loved him. She knew this, had known it since he stopped trying to get her to leave Bart's and shown her his brilliant mind. She also knew Sherlock loved her.

"Hey, Molls" Lestrade broke into her state of trance when he entered the morgue, a grin plastered on his face "How are you?"

"Great" She smiled widely in return "You?"

"Good" He smiled, Greg took a chair away from the cadaver "Got a body coming for you now, it's urgent"

"Okay, Mrs. Harrison can wait" She said "It's not like she has anywhere to be anymore"

She could practically hear Sherlock growling _don't make jokes, Molly_ in her ears.

Greg smiled "Molly, I was wondering" He scratched the back of his head nervously "After work, would you like to have coffee? With me?"

Molly did not still in her methodical movements as she finally liberated the heart from its ligaments and vessels and walked over to the scale "Uh, I am kind of seeing someone"

"Oh" She could her the disappointment in Lestrade's voice "I did not know that"

"It's fairly new" She did not meet the detective inspector's eyes.

No one knew about her and Sherlock except Meena, Molly best friend who had a radar for these things. She already gave Sherlock the break her heart and I'll break you speech to which he replied "I'd like to see you try" and "You won't ever have to".

Lestrade was spared of having to initiate small talk about Molly's boyfriend when the morgue doors swung to the side with the usual dramatic entrance of one Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on Lestrade, turned to Molly for a second then his eyes were back on the detective inspector glowing dangerously.

"We don't need the autopsy results after all, Graham" Sherlock said "You might want to question the daughter in law"

"It's Greg" Lestrade said in exasperation "And you solved the case already?"

"Yes" Sherlock nodded, never breaking eye contact with Lestrade "It was a three. Did you need something else?"

"Well. No" Lestrade stuttered

"Good bye then" Sherlock smiled tightly and glowered at the detective inspector until he left the morgue.

"You could be a bit nicer to him, Sherlock" Molly placed the heart in a bag and memorized its weight.

"He asked you out, didn't he?" Sherlock glowered.

"Yes" Molly nodded. A beat later, she understood "oh, that was jealousy?"

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, his gaze anywhere but on her "It was not, I was saving him precious time he could spend working on another case that does not require morgue access"

Molly grinned at Sherlock "You were jealous"

In a second, Sherlock was towering over her, his eyes darkening "I don't like it when people ask you on dates" His eyes flew to her lips, soon followed by his mouth.

His kiss was chaste at first, but he soon deepened it, claiming her mouth with his own. Molly found it hard to balance herself when she couldn't hold on to him with her bloody gloves, Sherlock caught on to her struggle quickly and grabbed her by the waist.

"Someone might walk in, Sherlock" Molly spoke once they broke apart to catch their breaths. Sherlock hummed and aimed for her lips again.

A minute later they broke apart to catch their breaths again "We're making out next to a dead body"

"Yes, we are" Sherlock glanced at Mrs. Harrison and turned his gaze to Molly "I don't think she minds".

Molly snorted "No, I don't think she does. I have to go back to work though"

Sherlock released her waist and took a step back "I have experiments to work on" He said "Hundred types of ash so far, Molly, there are loads more for me to discover. Will you come by when you're done?"

Molly turned to Mrs. Harrison's chest cavity once more, this time inspecting the lungs "It's not your most exciting experiment so far"

She could see Sherlock in her peripheral vision making an offended face "It's important to my work, one type of ash in any part of the crime scene or on any suspect might narrow down…"

"Yes, yes, it helps you catch the bad guy" Molly nodded along "It's just very boring, not to mention very bad for the lungs" She held up a lung in her hand as emphasis and Sherlock rolled his eyes. She sighed "I'll be there in half an hour"

Sherlock's offended face morphed into a gleeful one as he kissed her on the cheeks "Your coffee will be waiting" With that he darted out the morgue door to the elevators.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-

"Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock announced, pressing his phone to his ear.

Seconds later he had darted out of his dark flat, stopped a cab and yelled at the driver to get him to London General as quickly as humanly possible.

The cab was speeding, yet the ride felt endless. Sherlock played different sonatas on his knees. He wanted to space out and ignore the call. He wanted to delete what Lestrade had just said to him.

"It's Molly. It was a car accident, the doctors are working on her now"

He flew out of the cab and through the hospital doors. A quick direction from a nurse old him where he needed to be.

He stood from afar as the surgeon told Lestrade and Sally Donovan that the doctors did their best but the injuries were too extensive. The doctor said that he and his team did their best and that he was sorry their friend was dead.

Sherlock did not notice how light he had been feeling until the weights were thrown on his shoulders. The burdens had been missing ever since he'd tasted her lips and had her in his arms, and now they were back. Mocking him and promising never to leave again.

Sherlock left the hospital and headed for her flat. He needed to process this. It was too soon for her to leave, he came close to thinking about spending the rest of his mortal days in her presence. Now he can't even have one more hour even to say goodbye.

Sherlock climbed into her bed and went to his mind palace. He replayed each and every moments, her scent broke through his barriers and made the memories more vivid. He fed her cat and climbed back into bed with Toby next to him, the feline meowed as if trying to comfort the lonely man in his owner's bed.

Sherlock did not notice the wet area on the pillow when he left at the break of dawn.

He went to the one place he promised her he would not go, after incessant arguments with her mind palace version who repeated that one party dying does not annul a promise.

He argued that it was also the only place where he could silence the new found ache in his chest.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Sherlock's mind was blissfully silent as he stood over her grave surrounded by people all dressed in black. She had a small family and one friend, yet they all cried with such passion he couldn't help but admire. How could anyone not cry over her?

He did not. At least not while he was sober.

Sherlock had spaced out for so long that by the time his mind refocused the only person there was a teary Meena. She had looked at him with contempt mixed with a hint of sympathy. He hated the latter but felt he deserved the first.

"You relapsed" She stated. When he did not reply, she continued "I understand you're sad, but she would have been disappointed, Sherlock. Get clean again for her memory at least"

Sherlock almost overdosed that night.

-8-8-8-

"Are you alright?" Lestrade said over the phone "Do you need anything?"

"What would I need from you?" Sherlock replied harshly.

"Anything" the detective inspector said, a beat passed and he added "Nothing"

"I am fine" Sherlock said "And if you think I am drowning in sorrow over the fact that a pathologist I barely knew recently died you clearly don't know me"

"I thought she was you friend"

"She provided dead bodies and lab access" Sherlock's heart twisted in knots "I just called to let you know that I won't be taking any more cases these days as I will be out of the country"

With that, Sherlock hang up with the full intent to go into his mind palace and store away every fact about Molly Hooper in the farthest room. He also needed to do something about his stubborn heart that won't step stumbling over its own broken pieces.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

A month later Sherlock found himself being dragged to a van by masked men. He could not muster the energy or the will to fight them so he let himself be pushed and gagged.

Sherlock's eyes strained against the light. It was only a small light bulb hanging from a wire threateningly over his head, but its weak glow burnt his eyes like a thousand suns. His mind was waking up now. He unwillingly registered the dull buzz of a fly circling the poor light, he registered the shadow in the room cast by a most unwelcome figure who was tapping his feet furiously. Each tap registering in Sherlock's mind as a mini earthquake.

He was well aware that his wrists and ankles were tied up securely behind his back. The coldness of the metal chair felt like ice against his feverish skin. He groaned softly, but his own voice was enough to set another wave of headache through him.

But none of these unwanted stimuli was as unwelcome as the tightness in his chest. The tightness had nothing to do with the impending withdrawal effects or the big argument his captor was going to start any second now that Sherlock is awake.

He longed for another dose before he remembered why he relapsed again.

"Good morning, brother mine" Mycroft's voice set his mind on edge.

"Would you lower your voice?" Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"Not really!" Mycroft yelled at his younger brother for the first time in his life "You think I will stand by idly while you kill yourself?!"

"That would have been nice" Sherlock replied. The effort of the conversation alone was setting his brain on fire.

"Prepare to be disappointed, then" Mycroft said "How many overdoses must you take to realize that your brain is not meant for dormancy? Your pain will not be silenced with drugs"

Sherlock did not reply, he simply shut his eyes. This was another familial intervention because of his drugs. He would normally be spitting out hurtful remarks in his brother's direction, yet right now his forearm itched and the pain in his brain was unbearable. His body urged for another injection. Begged. He usually never left enough time between doses to suffer this weakened state.

He hated how weak and pleading he became for another fix, for another needle to be handed to him. It was the only way he could silence his thoughts and shut the lights of his mind palace off, the price for the temporary haven had been self loathing. He shattered ever mirror in his flat before he got kicked out permanently. In a way, he was glad Mycroft had found him.

Mycroft sighed in relief at his brother's silence, though it equally worried him. Maybe Sherlock finally realized the extent of damage he was inflicting upon himself. It might be that Sherlock finally came to the conclusion that no matter how hard one tries, even if they have a Holmes brain, one can never fully erase a memory or a person. Or it might be that Sherlock had no will to fight, that the only battle in him was an internal one with him alone as the casualty.

He ran a scanning eye across the person sitting in the chair. He became a scrawny almost lifeless figure, his eyes were hollow even now as the drugs' effect wore off, his hair matted with dirt and his clothes were torn. In all of Sherlock's past relapses, this was by far the worst. Mycroft's heart almost broke at how this person contrasted the Sherlock he'd seen a few months ago. But he was not giving up on his brother.

"I am tired" Sherlock muttered under his breath. The words were barely audible but they were all Mycroft needed.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review.**


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